


Guardian of the unknown paths

by Marayanna



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, he dies but he gets better, inspired by a tumblr post about church grims, not - in fact - a death fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 07:28:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17279645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marayanna/pseuds/Marayanna
Summary: "When a new graveyard was opened it was believed that the first person buried there doesn’t cross over. They help other spirits move on and guard the graveyard against evil" - an old European beliefThey bury Caduceus first.





	Guardian of the unknown paths

 

_“When a new graveyard was opened it was believed that the first person buried there doesn’t cross over. They help other spirits move on and guard the graveyard against evil”_

\- an old European belief

 

 

 

It is something his family has been doing for generations. They take care of the dead, prepare graves and the last rites, they talk to those crying after their loved ones  and try to ease whatever suffering they are left with. They make sure nothing disturbs the natural order of things, the order established by their goddess herself.

And when they feel a pull of fate from somewhere else, somewhere far, they take on the journey to find the place where they know they will be needed the most.

That’s what happens to Caduceus, too. He travels with his brothers and sisters for many moons before deciding that this strange forest surrounded by swamps will be their new home.

And when he dies, they bury him first.

*

When he wakes up but doesn’t really wake up, taking a breath that doesn’t really fill his lungs, when he feels the grass beneath him more like a memory than an actual sensation, he knows. He’s heard the stories about those who get buried first, of course he has. His family isn’t one to pass down stories just to amuse themselves or scare children. No, each tale and legend is their reality and it pays off to know about the mystical when you are part of it yourself.

The graveyard grims. Beings protecting the place they are buried in. Helping others pass on. Never really leaving themselves.

He didn’t have a choice, as one rarely does when it comes to matters concerning death, but even if he did, he would never question his goddess’ wishes. He would never question fate.

So he stands up, oddly light, and goes on to learn his new duties.

*

The graveyard grows, as all graveyards tend to. It becomes filled with strangers brought here by threads of their own destinies. And it becomes filled with his family members, too. Before he knows it, greaves of all those he travelled with are safely under his protection.

It doesn’t mean he gets lonely, of course. Young firbolgs run between the headstones, laughing and making flower crowns. Their parents are busy taking care of travelers who come to them with their troubles. Some of them stay and find they final rest in this calm, sunny forest, and Caduceus greets them warmly when they finally meet.  Others leave on their quests, sometimes with members of his family in tow. Theirs is the family of the makers of fine graves, of those listening to the whispers of the wind and the tugs of destiny. They go wherever they need to go.

They all know he’s there.

They’ve heard stories about the graveyard grims, of course, but it’s more than that. As time passes and nature accepts him as a constant rather than just a soul bound to disappear, he seems to… solidify. He’s not just a spirit anymore. He discovers that his steps leave marks in the morning dew. That he disturbs leaves of the tea bushes when he passes. And his family is anything but not perceptive. In their field of work, they have to be.

And as years go by and the signs of his presence become stronger and stronger – soft laughter in the air, an afterimage of pink hair – his family responds. Children sing songs for him while playing, adults tell him about their day while digging new graves. Sometimes they leave out tea for him, or moss covered stones, or curiously shaped bones, and while he can’t _take_ any of those things, he appreciates them nonetheless.

It’s nice. It means he’s not alone, not truly.

*

Then the plague starts.

The graveyard is old by then, first graves almost completely submerged in flowers and moss. His own headstone is so collapsed, it’s almost invisible. Everything is slowly but surely returning to the nature, returning to the Wildmother, as it should.

He is the first one to feel the ripples, hanging between the realms as he is. There is _something_ out there, something dark and cold and unnatural, and far, yes, but getting _closer_.

His family can see him now, if he chooses to, a pale shadow against the greenery. He rarely chooses to. There are things that should be kept separate, and life and death is one of them.

Which is why they know it’s serious when he comes to them now. They can’t hear him and he fades away soon , but he gets the message across. He knows that when they concentrate, they will be able to feel the tiniest specks of darkness too.

He can do nothing more. These are things that belong to the world outside of his graveyard, far, far out of his sight. And he is nothing more than a guardian of safe passages, a specter looking after those who make their way into the unknown.

*

Generations go by, and the graveyard is becoming unkempt.

It’s not immediately obvious, since rust and decay is only the manifestation of Wildmother’s will, the will they vowed to adhere to completely. But he still notices it, the small things. Ripe fruits left ungathered. Trinkets left in grass, forgotten. There aren’t so many children running around anymore. Not so many travelers, seeking out advice and help. People leave, their fates pulling them towards the darkness, to fight it, to stop it. They don’t come back.

Caduceus thinks about them, about his brothers and sisters, separated from him by endless generations, but his blood and bones still. He thinks about the lands they will find their graves in, far from their graveyard filled with flowers and warmth. He wonders if anybody will guide them in their last moments, or if they will have to find their way to the other side scared and alone.

The elders start preparing tea for him, and with a surprise Caduceus discovers that he can actually touch the teacup, that he can taste the liquid on his tongue. And so they sit together sometimes, a ghost still looking over his family, and old firbolgs becoming friends with the spirit that will be the last face they’ll ever see.

The darkness is getting closer, still far, but _closer_ , and Caduceus knows it doesn’t matter how long it will take it to reach his home. No matter how many years, centuries. If it comes, he _will_ be here.

And for the first time in centuries, he worries.

*

And then he is alone.

He wonders if he is a spirit, still. He is not translucent at all anymore, he can touch and move things, he can prepare and drink his own tea, even. For all instances and purposes he’s just like any other living person – except that he _isn’t._

He wonders what he _is_ , then.

He spends his days tending to the garden and drinking tea in his family’s hut. He guards their graves, as is his duty, even though it’s been a long time since he has last helped somebody pass on. The darkness surrounds the graveyard like a restless sea now, and he knows that it is his presence that keeps it from invading his home.

He wonders how long it will stay that way.

*

Time passes, and the greenery engulfs the graveyard more and more, it’s slow corrosion itself a prayer to the Wildmother, a mother that embraces all in the end. And Caduceus us her lone cleric now, it seems.

That’s why, when the wind carries her gentle whisper to him, he is not surprised. He nods to himself, and prepares. His family is of makers of fine graves and people who go where they need to go, after all.

They enter his graveyard just like She predicted, a group of people with desperation in their steps and fresh grief in their eyes. Not unlike countless others before them, Caduceus thinks. And yet, they _are_ different. If not for any other reason, than for the fact that their destiny leads them right into the middle of the darkness that looms over the world, darkness they cannot yet see, cannot comprehend.

They ask him for help. They ask him to come with them. Unintentionally, they ask him to leave the graveyard he has been protecting for centuries upon centuries, to leave his own grave, unrecognizable now in its oldness. They ask him, an apparition, a grim, a guardian of the unknown paths, to enter the world of the living…

And his bag is already packed. 

 


End file.
